A Little Night Hubris
by RandomDiversion
Summary: Kantarou meets a mysterious woman while walking home, drunk, in a snow-storm.  NOT a Mary Sue, author insertion, or 'magic girl' story.


**A Little Night Hubris**

The wind kept increasing, and visibility got worse. By the time he got off the trolley, Kantarou was glad the bar had shut down early.

He hunched under his thick coat and began walking the few blocks between the trolley-line and home. At first the wind seemed to nip at his face, with ice crystals striking him like tiny needles, drowning all but the most obvious sounds. But, as he walked, and with the alcohol in his system, he warmed.

A night like tonight was appreciated by certain kinds of _youkai_. He could feel that they were out and about, but hidden even from him—not invisible as to most humans, but riding the winds and obscured by snow, or peering at him from the tops of garden walls. They were the common, petty kinds who existed about town in obscurity, causing little trouble and therefore earning little trouble from Kantarou, saving for the occasional conversation. This close to home, most of them knew who he was. Some were friends.

An ordinary man, walking that route on that night, might have perceived them only as fleeting shadows, shrieks and howls of the wind, and a vaguely growing sense of unease that would have driven him more quickly to the familiarity of lights and warmth and the safe company of other humans.

But Kantarou walked without fear, knowing full well that the kinds of _youkai_ most likely to cause trouble were probably afraid of him. Let the others howl their glee; they were harmless.

By the time he was little more than a block from his house, he felt he had adjusted to the weather and was quite comfortable—even a little sweaty, if that was to be believed. It was there he noticed a lone woman, looking up and down the street indecisively under the halo of a streetlight.

She was small, like Youko, pretty in an ordinary way, dressed in a somewhat formal kimono, and wrapped in a light wool coat that was clearly not warm enough for the way the weather had turned. As she looked up and down the street she swayed slightly in each direction—either in indecision or to keep warm, Kantarou didn't know which. Kantarou had the impression she was returning home from a party or an event.

When she saw him, she jumped a little, startled.

"I am sorry for startling you," he said, stopping a few meters from her. "Good evening."

She stared at him, fearfully.

"Are you all right?" he asked. There was a lot of youkai energy in the area, a lot of activity, and he wondered if perhaps it had panicked her and made her lose her way. He supposed there was nothing odd in a lone woman being frightened by the approach of a strange man at night, but with his own diminutive stature, that rule rarely seemed to apply to him.

"I…who are you?" she said, her voice shaking. Kantarou noticed that she was shivering.

"Ichinomiya Kantarou," he answered, smiling gently. "I live nearby."

"Ichinomiya-san...not…the same Ichinomiya-sensei who writes for the paper?"

_She reads my work!_

"The same," he said.

"Ghost stories," she said, "and sometimes history."

"Yes," he said. He moved a little closer now that she seemed to recognize him; the conversation had been awkward at that distance.

Snowflakes clung to her lashes as she blinked at him.

"You are…so p-pale," she said uncertainly, "like a ghost yourself."

_Is that why she was afraid? She thought I was a ghost?_

"I was born this color," he said. "But I'm just a human being."

She smiled, a little stiffly, as if the cold had hardened her cheeks. It was a delicate, feminine smile, and Kantarou found himself imagining how pretty those cold-blued lips would be, pink and pressed against a dainty cup in a tea-house, to which he could take her if only something were still open in this storm.

"So you don't actually believe in those things you write about, do you?"

"Well," he looked down and felt his face flush. This was where people often turned away from liking him. "I do believe it—or most of it."

"On a night like tonight, ghosts would be out and about, wouldn't they?" she looked around in the darkness. "If you believe in them aren't you afraid?"

He smiled. "Not particularly," he said. He noticed she was shivering, and clutching at her coat. "The weather is getting worse, and the trolley is shutting down early…"

"Oh no…" she said.

"Would you like me to walk you home?"

"Uh, well, I was going to visit a new relative—my brother recently married, you see, and—they didn't meet me as planned. I must have gotten off at the wrong place. I really don't know which way…"

He still felt warm from walking, and there was no telling how long she'd been wandering about, so he took his coat off and draped it over her shoulders.

"Oh, warm, thank you," she murmured shyly.

"Would you like to come to my home for the night, then?" he said, and suddenly realizing how that sounded, appended, "Um, I mean, to stay with my housekeeper-woman until it is safe to travel."

_Although…if you wanted to stay with me, I don't think I'd mind…_ He imagined those pretty lips pressed against something far less innocent than a tea-cup, and tried not to let the thought show on his face.

_I must be REALLY drunk…_

With his coat off, the wind cut through his everyday clothes, making them flap like a flag, and the dampness of the sweat on him turned chill almost immediately.

"No, no, thank you, I really think…they will worry…"

"Do they have a telephone?"

"I don't know…"

Kantarou was starting to shiver himself now, and again felt the cold-needles of wind-whipped snowflakes striking his alcohol-warmed face.

"If you have the address, maybe the operator will know of someone with a phone near them who we could ask to relay a message."

He stamped his feet. Though his body had stayed warm under his coat, in the gathering snow, while he conversed, his feet were beginning to feel sore and heavy.

"My home is very close," he gestured across the pristine snow that filled the street ahead. His teeth began to chatter. "In any case we should stop there to warm up before going any farther."

"Maybe the trolley hasn't stopped running yet," she said, doubtfully. "It can't be far. You came from there, didn't you? We could go back."

"Yes," he said, looking back up the street, where his lonely footsteps were filling up with snow. A large gust of wind made both of them shift to keep their balance. "It isn't far, but if the trolley doesn't come…Please, this way, " he said, reaching his hand to invite her and then taking a step in the direction of his house.

But his step seemed to go amiss, uncoordinated by the cold, as if he missed the rise on a stair. He stumbled.

"We need to go _now_," he chattered.

_She left no footprints coming here…_

As quickly as he recognized the thought, he fumbled for his prayer beads, and tried to turn to face her, but fell. He looked up; the snow-woman was gone. Only the unmarked snow remained, with his coat half-tented up by its own stiffness in a heap on the snow.

_Kuso! I am a drunken IDIOT! I can't believe I fell for that!_

The beads fell from his sleeve into the snow, and he pawed at them, then realized he should be reaching for his coat first, which he quickly put on. Then he clumsily grabbed the beads, and struggled to stand up.

_I've got to get home…_he thought. _It's no more than a block, a few houses…No, no, not a block, not home_—_a house—ANY house—the nearest house with lights and warmth…_

He struggled to stand, the garden walls along his own familiar street suddenly looking all alike to him. At the first gate, he peered in, but the garden and house beyond were dark, as he suspected they would be—the snow-woman had probably chosen the location for that reason.

He continued a short way, using the wall as a guide as the snowfall increased, then he noticed his footsteps in the middle of the street, and realized he was headed in the wrong direction—forgetting he'd resolved to take refuge at any house and that direction no longer mattered.

_Am I so disoriented as that already? I could wander here in circles within a stone's throw of my house, and die of cold…_

_Haruka?_

_He went out. Who knows where he might be?_

He clutched his beads, though he could hardly feel them, and muttered a prayer for luck and one for focus. Then he gathered as much air and strength as he could and bellowed.

"YOUKO!"

Kantarou dared not take another step, for fear it would be in the wrong direction. He bellowed again, and again. A gust of wind made him totter, and he fell into the snow.

He struggled to rise, and something cool, but warm enough to be wet instead of frozen, poked him in the eye.

It was a fox in its winter fur. Youko in fox form had used her _kitsune_ sense of smell and hearing to find him.

He placed his cold hands on each side of her face, and looked into her eyes.

"Is that you? Are you real? Or am I hallucinating?"

"Get up!" said the fox. "Get up! Get up! Stupid, stupid stinking drunk of a master!" urged Youko's voice.

He clambered upright, the fox circling his feet like a cat, leading a few steps ahead.

He followed, no longer trusting his own judgment, dreading that what seemed to be his friend might be an illusion created by the snow-woman to lead him further astray to his death.

Suddenly all was dark, and muffled, and warm, and dense with the scent of _tengu_. A strong arm grabbed around his chest, and another scooped his feet, cradling him like a child, as Haruka lifted Kantarou from the warm wrap of his wing. His friend had essentially landed on top of Kantarou, folding his wings to tuck him briefly close and warm underneath.

The _tengu_ carried him on foot, which was probably more difficult for him than flying, but left Kantarou less exposed. Events became a blur—warm tea at home—Haruka's hand on his chest 'listening to the heart's electricity', he said—being forcibly restrained under the _kotatsu_, until Kantarou started shivering so violently he thought he'd break the table.

When the shivering stopped, he was exhausted, and the _youkai_ finally let him sleep. Haruka pet his hair as he drifted off, still sequestered under the heated table.

He woke with a hangover, to see Haruka sipping miso soup while looking out the window at a blindingly bright snow-drifted garden.

"She won't bother you again," he murmured, and walked out.

Kantarou could remember the _yuki on'na's_ pretty lips, and wished their meeting had gone differently. But the memories he called at will were of a _kitsune_-nose snuffling his eye, and the warmth under a _tengu's_ wing.

For those, he was grateful.

* * *

_youkai_ = fairy tale creatures, including ghosts  
_kuso_ = shit, crap, excrement...  
_kitsune_ = 'fox' or 'fox spirit'. same word means either a real live fox, or a shape-shifting youkai that takes the form of a human or of a fox, that is mischievous but generally considered 'good'.  
_tengu_ = 'winged goblin'. a youkai that looks like a man with feathered wings. known for arrogance, martial arts ability, and taking down corruption in human societies. good or bad depends on the viewpoint of the storyteller.  
_kotatsu_ = a traditional Japanese heater. A frame shaped like a low japanese table is made, with no top, and a heater that is either electric or, traditionally, filled with hot coals, hangs in the middle of the frame. A quilt is put over the entire thing, and a table top on top of the quilt so that, assembled, it functions as a table. The quilt around the sides keeps the heat underneath, and people sit with their legs warm under the table and the heat can pass up through the open bottom of traditional style clothing and out the neck, keeping the entire body warm using less fuel than it would to heat the entire room or house. On very cold nights people sleep under the table.  
_yuki on'na_ = 'snow woman'. a usually foot-less, floating woman-ghost that meets hypothermic men and either leads them to life or to death, more commonly the latter.


End file.
